A man without a country

By Steven Snyder

Behind the rhetoric of the nation’s current illegal immigrant discussion, underneath all the political debates about building fences and amnesty, lies a deeper accusation steeped in fear and anger: You are not one of us. Deemed unworthy by the majority, this growing segment of the American population is dismissed in title as well as stature. They are the illegals — the aliens — and since they have no rights, they aren’t really our problem.

In “Dirt,” playwright Robert Schneider gives a face and a voice to the legions of illegals currently excluded from the conversation about their future. Taking the form of an animated monologue, Schneider’s thesis has less to do with politics than with something more basic about the nature of human identification and self-worth. And toward that end, the title “Dirt” is not a mistake. Sad (Christopher Domig) sees himself as an insignificant speck on the glorious American landscape, a piece of dirt when compared to the magnificent light-skinned people who so casually dismiss him as he walks the city selling roses. Sitting in his cramped apartment, where he hides in his only chair and stares into the mirror, he works through the degrading stereotypes of Arabs as if they were facts. He talks of how he is not worthy of being seen by American eyes, not worthy of sitting on the benches in the city’s parks or using the public toilets reserved for the brave, admirable Americans.

He shares with the audience a picture of his mother, less to talk about his family than to mention the term “Kodak,” the word that sparked his dream of living in America. He talks of his homeland in the Middle East, at first fondly but then only as a way of acknowledging all the ways he is inferior to Westerners. He talks about his roommate and friend, only casually mentioning the ways his comrade has tried to commit suicide, mocking him for being unaware of how lucky he is to be in this beautiful country without a language, family or heritage to call his own.

Then he gets angry, screams, and chugs more from a bottle of gin. Composing himself, he “takes it all back.” He really loves this country. He has no right to complain.

Guided by a brilliant performance from Domig, who seamlessly segues from a man in awe of America to a man disgusted by its contempt of the unfamiliar, “Dirt” — a ’90s hit in Europe and translated poignantly by Paul Dvorak to suit today’s immigration strife in America — turns our own rhetoric against us. Encouraging the audience to rise up against these foreigners, these “dirty Arabs” mooching off the government and corrupting the children, he stretches our fears to their logical extreme, so we can see them in all their xenophobic glory. Sad’s dirt and he knows it — all he wants is for us to be more honest about the situation.